Hammer of Tyr
by Sings-off-key
Summary: NWN2 OC Why did Lorne Starling leave West Harbor and join the Luskans? Romance, adult situations.
1. First Dance

Part 1First Dance

To celebrate the end of spring planting and Chauntea's festival day, there was going to be a dance in the village square.

"Rose, you can't wear armor to a dance," my friend Amie told me. She had talked me into spending a chunk of my militia pay on a bolt of cloth from one of the peddlers who pop up like mushrooms around the big festivals and she helped me make a dress for the dance. Amie picked out the material. It was pink. Very pink. If I had known that the only cloth she could find was pink, I would never have agreed to this. The dress we made fit me snug in the waist and flared at my hips. We both hemmed our dresses daringly short for the dancing, almost up to our calves. I might have worried about the big lecture Retta Starling would give me about showing off my ankles, but I was pretty sure she wasn't going to notice, due to the bodice.

The bodice was very tight and laced up the front. It was cut low and showed my cleavage. A lot of cleavage.

"Amie, are you sure about this?" I tugged the neckline up. The gods had built me generously in the bosom department and there sure seemed to be a lot of the gods' bounty showing. I didn't think Chauntea would mind but I wasn't so sure about the village elders. Also, I'd never worn a dress before, ever, and my legs felt terribly exposed and, well, unprotected under the flimsy skirt. I'd be _much_ more comfortable in my leathers. "I feel a draft."

"Leave that alone, you silly, you look great. What, are you worried about what Daeghun will say?" We both laughed. As if my father would come anywhere near a social event without the strictest orders from the village council. We pinned shell roses in each other's hair in honor of Chauntea—real roses weren't blooming yet—and, feeling all pious, sprinkled ourselves with rose water as well and then Amie dragged me out the door.

"I am going to dance and dance and dance," she said happily.

"With whom?"

"Brother Merring, for starts. I hope." Since the arrival of the handsome, soft-spoken and unmarried cleric in West Harbor a few years back, there had been a huge surge of interest in Lathander amongst all the maidens of the village.

Brother Merring appeared a little soft by West Harbor standards, at least until you faced him stripped down in the wrestling ring or felt his wicked staff in sparring practice. He wasn't a member of the militia, but Georg asked him to give us some extra training and he'd knocked me on my rear more times than I could count. It must be true, what they say about those clerics from the Morninglord's Temple.

The musicians were warming up as we arrived. The Mossfeld boys were standing together just like they did at militia practice. Didn't they ever get tired of each other's company? All three jaws dropped when they saw us. They elbowed each other and laughed, and Wyl, my least favorite Mossfeld, sauntered towards me purposefully.

"Well, well, well," he said. "Don't you look _fine_, Rose Farlong." He ignored Amie and ogled my chest and I suppressed the urge to punch his nose. I ended up having to dance with all three of the brothers and after that, I limped desperately to the mead table. They weren't bad guys, really, just dumb as stones and much too fond of the sound of their own voices.

At home, Daeghun only let me use mead for medicinal purposes, such as head colds or cleaning infected wounds. I figured dance-induced injuries qualified. I belted back a big mug. It was the last of the winter brew and it started down sweet and thick and then kicked like an ox. A dire ox.

Wyl brought me another mug. He was trying to get me drunk and I hoped he would succeed. Problem was, he was getting there quicker than I was.

"How about taking a little walk out to the training ground," he said suggestively. He tried to slide his arm around my waist. "We could practice our…drills."

"I'd rather poke an arrow in my eye." He laughed. Har, har, har.

Amie was dancing with Merring, the lucky rat. She got to twirl around with the attractive, skillful dancer and I got stuck with the three toe crushers. I took another big swig of mead.

"No, really, Rose, I know we haven't been friends but I'm feeling very friendly right now. Very, very friendly."

"Then be a real pal and take yourself off," Lorne said from behind me. He smiled down at me. "Let's dance."

I'd been feeling embarrassed and uncomfortable around Lorne ever since the afternoon when he kissed me in the orchard but saving me from Wyl earned him a dance. I tossed back my mead, pressed the empty mug into Wyl's hand, and followed Lorne to the dance square.

I'd danced with Lorne before, all one hideous afternoon in the Starling's chicken yard when I was 14 or 15, with Retta Starling calling instructions and Bevil clapping the time and laughing at me. "You have to learn to dance", she told me, and ignored my wail of "why?". Now, with the moon bright overhead, and the mead flowing through my veins like thick liquid fire, dancing didn't seem such a dumb idea. Lorne stared down at me with stunned admiration.

Now I'm a big strong girl—I talked myself into the militia when I was thirteen and I'd been knocking men twice my age on their rears ever since. Not Lorne Starling, though. He made me look small. He had to duck his head when he entered a room and his arms were as big around as my thighs. Good fighter, too. You always think those really big guys are going to be slow but Lorne could surprise you.

I'd been hanging out around the Starling farm since I was little, back when all the kids called me Thorn instead of Rose, because I was such a pest. Retta was like the mother I'd never known, and her son Bevil was like my brother. But I'd never had sisterly feelings about Lorne. Back then, he was almost a god to us younger kids. He was the man of the house—his father had disappeared to the gods' knew where—and he was always working, so strong and capable, and active in the militia, too.

As a teen, when my father's cool reasonableness drove me half out of my mind with frustration, it was a relief to be near Lorne's restless energy and hot temper. You always knew where you stood with Lorne because he would holler it out at you in that deep thundering voice like the wrath of the gods. I once saw him throw a wagon wheel clear across the yard when he couldn't get it to fit on the shaft. My father would have been appalled. (Not that he would have said anything.) I applauded.

We danced several reels until I was breathless and then the music changed to one of the slow courting dances. The dance square cleared out to make room for the courting couples. Amie was already at the mead table, with Bevil, of all people. I headed toward them, but Lorne took my hand and said, "Wait," and he pulled me closer.

To dance a courting dance, particularly at one of Chauntea's festivals, was a public declaration, almost as binding as a betrothal. Already I felt curious eyes upon us. A flush burned my cheeks.

"You're all I think about, Thorn," he said, using his old name for me. He was in his festival clothes, with his thick brown hair clubbed back away from his strong, handsome face. His strange, intense eyes bored into me. He's the only man I've ever met that makes me feel small and dainty. "Please. Dance with me."

In a courting dance, you actually touch your partner. I put one hand on his shoulder and he put one hand on my waist. I could feel the heat of his fingers through the thin fabric of my frock and it sent a tingle through me.

Afterwards Lorne walked me home and followed me into the house. It was very dark and quiet, no problem for me of course, since I can see in the dark, but I lit a couple of lamps for Lorne.

"Is your father home?"

"I doubt it," I said. "He never is anymore. Do you want some tea?" My head was spinning in a very pleasant manner from the mead but I was guessing that if I didn't drink something non-alcoholic soon, I would regret it heartily later.

"No, Rose," he said. He pulled me into an embrace. "That's not what I want."


	2. Birthmark

Part 2 Birthmark

Lorne brushed his fingers through my hair. One of the shell roses fell out and broke on the floor with a small crunch.

"I want to kiss you," he said. His lips were gentle at first, but grew demanding and he pulled me up tight against his body and left me gasping for breath. He smiled down at me and stroked my hair again, and then his fingers dropped down to my shoulder and slowly traced a line along the upper edge of my bodice. When I didn't object, he bent his head and traced that line with soft kisses.

"Gods, you smell good."

"Rosewater," I murmured. He chuckled.

"My _mother_ smells like rosewater," he said. "You smell like something else. Delicious." He nuzzled my neck. He had a good smell too, Retta's herbed soap on top of healthy male. Mmm.

We ended up on the couch. His warm, calloused hands cradled my face and I could feel his heat soak into me all the length of my body where he pressed against me. He was always feverishly warm like there was a fire burning inside of him. Hot eyes, hot hands, hot _everything_. For a moment I wondered what it would feel like to have that heat burning all along my bare skin and my eyes fluttered closed. Lorne laughed as if he had read my thoughts and he toyed with the tie to my bodice.

It felt so good to have somebody _touch_ me. I know Daeghun loved me in his own way but I think the sky would fall before my father would, oh, hug me, or touch me in any way other than to correct my grip on a tool or weapon or to silently draw my attention to animal tracks. I had always accepted this without question and only now, with Lorne's breath warm against my ear and his arms so tight and possessive around me, did I realize I was starving, absolutely starving for his touch. I kissed Lorne almost desperately.

"Rose," he said urgently. "Gods, Rose." And then in a different, more conversational voice, he said, "Rose, what _is_ that? I didn't know you had a tattoo."

My sleeve had slid down my left shoulder, showing my birthmark in all its glory.

"It's not a tattoo," I sighed.

He traced the edge of the mark and jerked his finger away as if it had stung him.

"I feel it," he said. "Gods, it feels so strange—what is that thing? Is it a picture?" The glyph was stylized but his eyes opened very wide when he finally made sense of it. "It's the hammer of Tyr."

"Yes."

"But Rose, Rose, I don't understand. You don't worship Tyr, do you? You never said."

"Someone in my bloodline must have been awfully close to him." Lorne stared at me.

"Oh, Great Mother, you're an aasimar," he said. "Rose, was your father an angel?"

"I don't know," I said in a small voice. Lorne pulled me close and I laid my head on his broad shoulder. "I'll never know." Lorne held me quietly and I could feel the heavy thumping of his heart against my ear. We stayed like that a long time. The lamp flickered in a sudden draft. Then his hand brushed along my shoulder and he whispered into my hair.

"Take me up to your room."

I turned my face up to his, and then I jumped halfway out of my skin when I heard my father say, "No, Rose, you will not."

I yanked the tie to my bodice tight and I am sure I looked nine kinds of guilty. Daeghun's voice was cool and his stance was relaxed, but there was something strange in his eyes, a look I had never seen before. He was angry. He and Lorne stared at each other and I had an insight in the thick uncomfortable silence. They did not like each other. They did not like each other at all.

"Go to bed, Rose."

Lorne's grip tightened on me.

"She shall do as she pleases," he said. And then, almost paradoxically, "I am going to marry her."

"No," my father said.

"I will," Lorne said. "I don't need your permission. Who are you, anyway, ranger? You are nothing to her."

"You are very much your father's son," Daeghun said. "A pity. I will not see my daughter dragged down to your level."

Lorne pushed me aside and rose slowly to his feet. He towered over my father and his eyes burned hot with fury.

"Hey," I said and when he didn't listen, I punched him hard in the shoulder and gave him a shake. He blinked down at me. "That's enough, both of you." I glared at my father. "I don't know what you are talking about and you know what, I don't really care right now. Lorne, go home. Father, go, oh go do something. I'm going to bed." As I swept up the stairs, I said over my shoulder, "And I better not find any bodies on the floor in the morning."


	3. Rain

Part 3 Rain

It was a cool, dreary summer. The rains came late and then they never stopped. Hay rotted in the fields, crops drowned except in the highest fields and the farmers shook their heads over the poor harvest to come and prophesized a lean hungry winter. My kitchen garden failed, like everyone's, but nature's bounty was largely unaffected, and Daeghun and I gathered wild plants and hunted both to stock our own larder and to share with our neighbors. Meat and fish had to be smoked or salted—there was no sun to dry it—and everything had to be watched carefully for mold.

Daeghun worked me brutally hard all summer. The work needed to be done, yes, but many villagers were willing to help, if he had only asked. This was his way of keeping me and Lorne separated. I still didn't understand why he had taken such a dislike of Lorne. All he would say is that those of Starling blood were not to be depended on. It was true that Lorne's father had deserted his family and there were all kinds of rumors about what had become of him, but how could Lorne be blamed for that? Retta was certainly well-respected in the community, after all. More likely, my father was still brooding over something that had happened three or four generations back. Elves. Gotta love them.

I was so tired of wet hair, wet clothes, wet boots and wet skies. Brother Merring would have said that the dawn comes whether you see it or not, but oh, Lathander, I longed to see the sun again.

Still, we couldn't hunt all the time. The paths were too wet for any kind of wagon or cart, so everything we killed or gathered had to be packed out on our backs. We would go out for a few days, return back to the house with what we had found, prepare it for storage, and then return to the Mere.

This last trip, the swamp cabbages were finally at their pungent peak of ripeness and we had gathered as many as we could carry. There's nothing like staggering through the mud all day under an ill-balanced load of stinking greens with the rain dripping into your eyes to make you happy to see your home at last. Daeghun started a fire in the fireplace—oh, joy, a fire at last. We set out our weapons and boots to dry. I had done every single thing Daeghun asked me for weeks and weeks now but I was not going to spend another afternoon oiling my leather and cleaning my weapons and then fall into my bed exhausted. I fetched my spare boots and my spare cloak from its hook by the door.

"Where are you going?" Daeghun asked but he knew, of course.

"I'm taking some of these cabbages to the Starling farm," I said. He gave me a rather sour nod.

Retta jumped up and gave me a big hug when I came dripping into her kitchen.

"Oh, my dear, you look so tired and thin," she exclaimed. I waved this off.

"I hope you like swamp cabbages," I said and dropped the bag by the door. "I know they're not to everyone's taste but they are quite wholesome."

"Bless you, Rose, I was just thinking that we needed more greens or we all would be sick this winter. Do you think I can just pack them in straw, or should I salt them?"

"If you have the salt, that would be best, I think."

She hugged me again.

"I've missed you but I know someone who is missing you more. The boys are in the smokehouse. We had to slaughter another one of the cows, poor old thing." Most of the farmers were culling their herds now so the cattle wouldn't starve later. She gave me a sly smile. "Why don't you go tell Bevil to come help me with these cabbages."

The smokehouse was set far back from the house and barn in case of fire. Lorne and Bevil had butchered the cow, and were cutting it up to be smoked. They had stripped down to their breeches and their bare chests gleamed with sweat. The smell of blood was strong and they were both splattered with it.

"Hey, Rose!" Bevil said. "Where have you been all this time? Avoiding my big brother?"

"Hunting." Lorne didn't say anything at all but he drank me down with his eyes. I wondered if my eyes looked as hungry.

"Actually, Bevil, your mom told me she needs you in the kitchen." Lorne drew a bucket of water from the barrel by the smokestack and washed off the blood. Clean water ran down his muscular arms, trickled down his broad chest. I couldn't help but stare. I felt a flush start on my cheeks.

"I think I should stay and chaperone you two," Bevil teased but I laughed and shoved him out into the rain.

Lorne held open his arms and I walked into them. I wrapped my arms around his waist and laid my head on his chest.

"This is nice," I said, after a while.

"You're wet," he said, after a while.

"It's raining."

Later, I said, "You know, Lorne, this is not a very romantic spot."

"You're right about that. Come with me." We dashed for the barn and I followed Lorne up into the loft. He spread my cloak on the hay and gestured for me to sit. We pulled off our wet boots and he rubbed my feet. I sighed and lay back on the cloak. No one had ever rubbed my feet before.

"Poor darling, are you very tired?"

I'd been raised practically from birth not to complain.

"I'm fine," I said.

"Little liar. I think you should take this wet tunic off."

"Okay." The rain pattered down on the roof. It was relaxing. He helped me strip down to my thin undershirt. I lay on the cloak and those big, warm hands rubbed all the stiffness and soreness out of my back and shoulders. I rolled on my side and looked up at him through my lashes.

"I'm thinking you could pretty much have your way with me now, if you wished, and I wouldn't object," I said with a slow smile. He stretched out beside me and toyed with a lock of my hair, which was finally almost dry.

"I like the sound of that." I loved the sound of his deep, lazy voice. Like the rain, like the touch of his hand, it soothed me.

"Mmm."

"So does this mean that you are going to marry me?" he asked.

"Mmm."

"Is that a yes?" His fingers caressed a line along my neck, my shoulder.

"Not capable of coherent thought," I murmured. "Ask later." I shivered as his hand stroked along my side and found bare flesh where my shirt had hiked up.

"Later," he breathed into my ear, "You will be asleep."


	4. Bandits

Part 4 Bandits

Daeghun didn't say anything when I finally dragged myself home, sleepy and sated, but he gave me one of those cool appraising looks and I knew I had disappointed him. He had cleaned my armor for me though. I tried not to sigh and went upstairs to my cold lonely bed. I didn't have to be cold and alone. Retta had already hinted that there was no need to wait for the cleric, that she would be perfectly satisfied if Lorne and I made our vows before the house shrine. It was a perfectly respectable custom. We could do it anytime. Anytime we wished. Now, even. Lorne gave me a questioning look and I felt myself turn hot with embarrassment. They had even discussed changing bedrooms, so that Lorne and I would have the larger bed. They had worked it all out. All I had to do was…agree to it. I don't know if I'm stubborn or stupid (or both) but I just didn't feel ready to deal with the idea of marriage yet. On the walk home, I even considered talking to Daeghun about it. I could have really used some advice but after the look he gave me—no.

In the morning, Daeghun had a new task.

"The village council has decided to send to High Cliff for a shipment of grain and salt," he said. "They are collecting the gold for it now. They have asked me to carry the gold to High Cliff and to help protect the shipment of supplies on its way back here. Bandits have become increasingly bold along the coast road.

"Will you come with me?" he asked. "There are few I would trust more to guard my back."

I had been begging my father for years to take me on patrol with him. Dealing with lizardfolk, wild animal attacks, and bandits was all part of his role as West Harbor's ranger, but always he had refused to take me after bandits. "Make no mistake, my daughter," he once told me, "Dealing judgment and death wounds the spirit. I would not see you take up this task just yet." Perhaps now that Lorne had made me a woman, hah, he thought I was up to the task at last.

"Of course I'll come."

This was to be a swift trip, so we packed trail food instead of planning to live off the land. Since we wouldn't be hunting, I debated weapons and decided to bring my falchion instead of my bow. Daeghun frowned but he didn't deny my logic. I'd never be the archer he was, and the falchion let me make the most of my assets, speed and strength. If we had to fight, I'd feel better with a blade.

I suspected his biggest objection was that Lorne had given it to me. Lorne had several falchions, gifts from his absent father, and I was the only member of the militia who would work out with him with the big blades. He had taught me to love them as he did.

The rain stopped about the time we passed the Weeping Willow Inn. I wondered what it would be like to sleep in an inn, a real inn, with hot food, cool drinks, hot bath, cool sheets. Perhaps I would find out, one day. The sky was still overcast, the forest floor still wet, but at least the rain had stopped. We ghosted through the forest, roughly parallel to the coast road, moving swiftly and silently. We saw beasts but no men. The trip to High Cliff was uneventful.

West Harbor's gold bought guards as well as the grain and the salt. The village elder, however, was very concerned. A local farmer had just found the remains of a small caravan that had left for Neverwinter a couple of days earlier. All of their guards had been found slain except for one, a woman named Jain, and the merchant herself was missing as well. Daeghun suggested that we scout out the location of these bandits, or at least ensure they were not along our path, before the wagons moved out of town. The elder gratefully agreed. Daeghun added something very softly to the elder, and he nodded in return.

Once out of town, I asked how we were going to find the bandits. They could be anywhere.

"A difficult task, for two," he agreed. "We may get lucky however. I asked the elder to spread the rumor that our caravan leaves tomorrow. If the bandits have an informer in town, we might follow him to their camp tonight."

"You think someone in town is telling the bandits about caravans? So the bandits are ready for them?"

"Very typical behavior, I fear. Sometimes the guards themselves are involved. These bandits may have spies all along the coast road."

"That's wicked!"

"Yes."

"In West Harbor as well?"

"Perhaps," he said grimly and looked away.

"How will we recognize the informer?"

"Pray to Tymora."

We found a patch of high ground where we could survey the paths out of the village. We spent a long dull afternoon watching the road. High Cliff was quite a bit larger than West Harbor, but it certainly was no Neverwinter and this latest attack had people scared. There was very little traffic in or out. I don't have Daeghun's capacity for sitting motionless endlessly, but I did my best.

Near dusk, we saw a lone traveler head north. A farmer headed home from the tavern? Maybe.

"I will follow him," he said quietly. "Wait here and watch. I will come back when I can."

"Okay."

Once Daeghun had left, I was free to fidget, but just as the skies turned dark, I spotted another lone traveler. He, also, took the north road. A very odd time to start a journey, I thought, so I followed.

I counted about twenty bandits in the clearing. Many of them were sleeping. There were also sentries hidden in the woods surrounding the campsite and I'm sure I didn't find them all. My night vision is good but that doesn't mean I would spot someone well hidden. Still, I had a big advantage over normal humans. These men had been camping here for some days, it seemed, and planned to stay longer, judging by the amount of ash around the fire, the fact they had dug privies and the size of the stack of firewood. There was a tent set up by the edge of the clearing but most of the men slept in bedrolls near the large cook fire or scattered around the site. How did I know they were bandits? They had prisoners. I saw two women tied up under a wagon. Torn clothes and bruised faces did not bode well for the treatment they had received. They looked desperately tired. I stood in the shadow of a tree, torn by indecision. I needed to go back to High Cliff and wait for Daeghun. That was the only smart thing to do. But I couldn't force myself to leave those two women. I thought I could probably reach the wagon unseen and cut them loose. But would they be capable of following me out undetected?

I heard a step behind me about two heartbeats before the quarterstaff slammed me so hard in the back that my face hit the ground. That first blow knocked the breath out of me and the kicks that followed didn't help me get it back. Someone grabbed me by the arm and pulled me up, at the same time twisting my arm behind me painfully. The guy with the staff had pointy ears. Probably the one who spotted me, damned half-elf.

The men dragged me towards the fire.

"Blane," called the half-elf. "Got a visitor."

A big grizzled man crawled out of the tent. There was gray in his beard and his eyes were very cold and scary. He stalked towards me. I don't think of myself as a coward but he was…formidable.

"Who are you, girl?"

"Does it matter?" I asked. "I'm just a hunter. Why have you people attacked me?"

"Ah, a Harborman," he said. His lips curved up but I wouldn't really call it a smile. "I haven't seen one of you in a while but the accent is hard to miss." It was, and he had it too. I'd never seen this man in my life. Who was he?

"She's probably not alone," Blane said. "Get everyone up. We'll move camp tonight."

"She had this." The half-elf handed my sword belt to Blane, who raised his eyebrows and pulled my falchion from the scabbard.

"Not exactly a hunting weapon, is it?" he said. "Unless you are hunting men." He turned my sword to the firelight. "I know this blade," he said slowly. "Where did you get it?"

His eyes bored down into me. Gods, he was tall. He came closer and suddenly grabbed me by my hair and forced me to look up at him. "Where did you get it?"

"A gift," I gasped. He shook me and yanked me by the hair so that I rose up on my toes to escape the pain.

"You lie," he said. "My son would never have given my falchion away. Not to anyone. Not to a _wench_."

Oh, sweet Lathander, no. My expression must have given me away because his eyes sharpened in interest.

"Know my son, do you? Do you know who I am?"

"You can't be Lorne's father."

"I can and I am," he said. He laughed and looked me up and down. "Let's see what kind of a wench my son would give a good blade to. Strip her," he told his men. Four of them held me and yanked at my leather, cutting the straps to get it off me. I fought like a wild thing until someone punched me hard on the jaw. I didn't lose consciousness but I faded out for a bit and when I came back to myself, I was spread-eagled on the wet ground.

"Not bad," Blane said. "Not bad at all." He tossed my sword down and unbuckled his belt. "Let's see what you think of _my_ blade." He opened his pants and grinned at me. Several things happened all about the same time. I screamed with outrage and shockingly bright white light burst out of my hands. I heard a bow let fly and a meaty thunk and I saw the tip of an arrowhead poke out of Blane Starling's chest. I had no doubt that it was Daeghun. The men holding me fell back, blinded by my light. I rolled and before Blane finished dropping to his knees, before he even stopped grinning, I surged to my feet with the falchion in my hands. It felt _good_ in my hands. Arrows sang and my sword sang and between us, we slaughtered them all.

Near the wagon, where the two women cowered, one of the bandits, young, fell to my feet and begged for his life. When I looked in his eyes, I saw only fear of his own death, no regret, no understanding and so I killed him while he clutched at my ankles with tears on his cheeks. His blood ran hot on my bare legs.

"Don't be afraid," I told the women. "We're here to help you." They blinked in my light and they crawled towards me.

"Who are you?" one asked. "Are you an angel?"

"I'm Rose."

The light faded out of my hands. I cut their bonds and helped them up. Daeghun came out of the shadows.

"Are you hurt?" he asked me.

"I don't know." I was bloody but I wasn't feeling much of anything.

"I didn't do what you told me," I said. "I'm sorry."

"It happens."

I saw the sorrow in his eyes, and I was drawn into it. His sorrow ran slow and deep like the river runs through the Mere, shaded by ancient cypress trees, their branches dripping with moss. Like that river, his sorrow was no dead thing, but carried a life of its own, secret perhaps, but with its own ebbs and flows, joys and terrors. I realized we were more alike at that moment than we had ever been. Now I was a killer too. I drank down some of his sorrow and it was sweet and terrible. We didn't hug. We didn't touch. We didn't need to.

I found some clothes that fit amongst the bandits' gear. I found my belt and my boots. I cleaned off the blood and I wasn't hurt bad. I really should have been hurt more than that. It didn't make sense that I wasn't hurt but I was thankful. I had a bad feeling that it was Tyr I had to thank. I didn't want to owe a debt to the Maimed God. I didn't love Him. I didn't want to love Him. How could one love justice? Justice was to be feared.

"Well, nine damns," I said. "Look what they did to my armor."

"We can repair it," my father said.


	5. Confrontation

Part 5 Harvest Fair

We were heroes in High Cliff. We were able to recover all the goods from the recent caravan and many other things as well from the bandits' camp. The merchant, Aylani, pressed us to accept a reward for her cargo and for killing the bandits but Daeghun said no. She wore him out with talk and eventually he agreed to allow her to pay for West Harbor's shipment of grain and salt. Wasn't the village council going to be surprised when he gave them their gold back?

Everywhere we walked, people stared at us and talked, and it made me feel so strange. When my father suggested we make camp in the forest and wait for our wagons to catch up to us in the morning, I said, yes, please. A hot bath would have been nice but a cold stream was perfectly acceptable.

I was afraid the rains would resume when we entered the Mere, but it appeared that the unseasonable weather had come to an end. The wagons made it to West Harbor in good time and the guards helped unload the supplies into the common barn, where they would be kept until they could be distributed at the Harvest Fair. The tents were already standing in the village square. The guards perked up when they saw them. Everyone loves a festival, and West Harbor was famous for brawling and for mead. West Harbor had no inn or tavern but Harbormen are a hospitable bunch and the guards were taken care of.

The Fair started the next day. Brother Merring hurried across the square to me.

"Rose, I heard what happened in High Cliff. You should have come to me last night!"

"What?" I said but when his long fingers touched my face and turned me towards the sun, I realized I must have some spectacular bruises. There was no mirror in our house—neither one of us had to shave. Daeghun had given me a poultice that had taken away some of the ache in my jaw and my back and the walk from High Cliff had loosened up my muscles well enough. You didn't stay in the militia for long if you couldn't shrug off minor injuries. Still, when Merring said a quiet prayer and I felt Lathander's light fill me up, burning away the last of the pain, I was grateful.

"I'm told you used power against the bandits," he said carefully. I hoped those High Cliff guards hadn't told everyone in town, but they probably did. Merring knew about my god mark, of course. He gave me a worried look. "Are you well?"

"Something happened," I said and I described it to him. "They feared me, Merring. I had no armor, hells, I had no clothes, but no one could touch me. My sword felt alive in my hands. It felt like every stroke I took was a killing blow. Is this power from Tyr?" I touched my shoulder where the mark lay.

"Almost certainly," he said and there was pity in his eyes. "I'm afraid…" I turned to see what had caught his attention. Retta and Bevil stood across the square. Bevil held her by the arm, as if she needed support and he seemed to say something urgent to her. When she saw me look at her, she turned her face away. She looked _ashamed_.

"Oh no," I said. She stood still as I walked to her but she looked down at her feet. Bevil gave me an anguished look.

"Retta, please," I said. There were tears in her eyes as she looked up at me.

"Oh, Rose, I am so sorry," she whispered. "I didn't know Blane was…was…oh, gods, he could have killed you."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," I said fiercely and I pulled her into a hug. She gave a little sob and clung to me for a moment. The square was crowded for the festival and I figured we had given everyone enough of a show.

"Come to my house," I said. "Let me get you some tea."

We sat in the kitchen and Retta talked.

"I met Blane in Neverwinter," Retta said. "We met at a fair and fell in love at first sight, as silly as that sounds. He carried me off to the wilds of West Harbor, to my parents' dismay, and within a few months, I was pregnant with Lorne.

"Blane had always had a hot temper, but it seemed that the older he got, the worse it became. Chauntea blessed our marriage generously, perhaps too generously too quickly. We had to work hard to keep our children fed, and it ate at him I think, and his temper grew. Sometimes a very little thing, a broken strap or a spilled drink would set him off. He would get angry, and he would hit me. We all learned to be…careful."

The thought of this sweet, caring woman forced to tiptoe around her husband's rages made me feel ill.

"Why didn't you leave him?"

"How could I? My parents were so far away. I could never have made it all the way to Neverwinter with my children.

"I had a difficult pregnancy with the twins. I was tired all the time, and sick, too, and all the work fell on Blane. And I was so clumsy and awkward." She sipped her tea. "He hit me one afternoon and I fell and couldn't get up. Lorne, who was only six or seven, got between us and tried to protect me. Blane turned on Lorne and he beat him. Sweet Chauntea, I thought he would kill him. I screamed and screamed. Your father came, Rose. Daeghun. I don't know how he made Blane stop, but he did. He told Blane that he did not deserve his family and that he was unworthy of us. He made Blane leave. He took care of Lorne, healed him, and he told me that he would take care of us, too, until we could make it on our own. All the neighbors helped out with the plowing and the herd and the harvest, and your father made sure we always had enough to eat. You were very small then. I don't know how much you remember.

"I never saw Blane again, but Lorne did. I knew they met sometimes but I never knew where or how they arranged it. Lorne would disappear for a day or two or three and come home with gold in his pocket or a new weapon. How he loves those swords of his."

"You never asked him where he went or what he did?"

"No. I knew he was with Blane. After all that happened, Lorne still loved his father and it didn't seem fair to take that away from him. I don't think he blamed me for Blane leaving. He blamed Daeghun." She took a deep breath.

"Lorne is a lot like Blane, Rose, but he has a good heart and he loves you so much. He is calmer and happier around you than I've ever seen him. You're so strong, Rose. It won't be like Blane and me."

The door jerked open and Bevil rushed in.

"Mom, Lorne's been fighting in the Harvest Brawl and Cormick just beat him."

Retta went pale.

"Is he okay?" Bevil gave a worried headshake.

"Is he hurt?" I asked.

"Not hurt," Bevil said and exchanged a look with his mother. "Everyone was talking about…about our father, and the Mossfelds booed him, Mom. They catcalled when he got in the ring, and Cormick said something too, I don't know what. Lorne went crazy. When the fight was over, Brother Merring tried to calm him down, but…"

"Chauntea, no," she whispered. "Where is he?"

"I don't know."

He was in the middle of the village square, facing down my father. My fellow Harbormen were sure getting their Festival's worth of entertainment this year.

"You killed my father, elf. I should kill you for that." Lorne's eyes blazed furiously.

"Your father brought his death upon himself by his actions," Daeghun said quietly.

"You are doing the same," Lorne growled. I ran forward to stand by my father. Lorne stared at me a long moment and seemed to come back to himself, at least a little.

"I won't kill you," Lorne said. "Because of _her_. But I am done with you, elf. You stay out of my life, you stay away from my family. We don't need you." He held out his hand to me. "Come, Rose. I won't have you live in his house any longer. Come home with me."

"But Lorne," I cried. He reached for me and jerked me along by the elbow, and not gently either. It was just natural for me to resist.

"Please, Rose, come with us for now," was Retta's anguished whisper and I knew she was afraid Lorne would go crazy again. I couldn't do anything that would shame her any further. I saw understanding in Daeghun's eyes and he gave me a small nod.

"You have to talk to me, Lorne," I said, when we reached the front walk of the farmhouse. Retta touched Bevil's arm and the two of them went inside, leaving us alone. Lorne paced angrily up and down the walk. I didn't even try to keep up with his long stride and instead sat down on the front step and watched him. I could tell he was working up to something.

"I can't stay here," he said at last. "I can't live here anymore. I can't…Let's go away, Rose. Bevil is old enough to take care of the farm now and the twins are big enough to help. I have some gold I can give him. The kids and Mom will be fine. Let's just go. I can get work in Neverwinter."

"The war…."

"Then I can fight in the war," he said. "Or we can go somewhere else. Anywhere you like."

"I don't know…"

"We'll just head up along the coast road," he said. "We'll work our way north, and see where it takes us."

"You've got to give me time to think." Lorne pulled me to my feet and stared down at me. I could see the tension building in his eyes.

"No," he said. "There's been enough thinking and enough talking. I want to leave today. I want to leave _now_."

"I don't even have my armor or my weapons," I protested. He shook me, not hard, but his grip was tightening painfully on my upper arms.

"Don't _argue_ with me, Rose. Leave it all. We'll get what we need on the road."

"No, Lorne. That doesn't make any sense."

"You're still _arguing_ with me." He shook me harder this time. "Mom!" he bellowed. "Come out here. I want you to witness our vows."

"No, Lorne!" I cried. He dragged me, actually dragged me to the simple family shrine, nestled under a willow tree. Retta ran out of the house, her mouth open in consternation.

"What are you doing, son?"

"Getting married," he growled and he tried to push me down on my knees before the carving of Chauntea. When I refused to kneel, he satisfied himself with taking both of my hands in his. I couldn't break his grip without fighting, without hitting him, and I wasn't ready to do that yet, but I struggled anyway.

"Stop this," I said.

"Chauntea," he said. "Bless our joining, make it fruitful. I take this woman, Rose Farlong, to be my wife, for as long as I live."

"You can't force her, this is blasphemy," his mother cried. His eyes burned down at me and he shook me again.

"Say the words, Rose."

"I will not. You are mad."

He hit me then with his open hand, hard enough to knock me back a step and my legs slammed into the altar. He froze and he stared at me with frightened eyes.

"No," he whispered. "I didn't do that. I wouldn't do that." He took a deep shaky breath and then he fell to his knees. He clenched his fists tight and he screamed, a long wordless scream of such pain and frustration and madness that my heart broke inside me. He encircled my legs with his arms and he wept against my thigh. My heart broke and broke and broke.

"Please, Rose, please, Rose, please," he begged and my hands wanted to stroke his hair and tell him it was okay but I knew then that it never ever would be.

"No," I said. I pulled away. I left him on his knees and I walked back to my father's house.

Daeghun waited for me by the fireplace. I stood beside him and looked into the flames and I wondered if I would ever feel warm again. His eyes, his deep sorrowful eyes, were a well of compassion. I could drown there, if I wanted. I looked away.

"He can't help himself," he said softly.

"I know," I said. Then the tears I'd been holding back spilled out hot on my cheeks.


	6. Luskan's Champion

Part 6 Luskan's Champion

I could scarcely believe it when Lorne Starling strode into the courtroom. He gave me a flat stare as if I were a stranger and then he offered his blade 'in Luskan's name' to Torio for the trial by combat. Haeronmos in Port Llast had told me there was a giant Luskan called Lorne in Garius' service but I hadn't let myself believe it was him.

"Why do we even bother with evidence and trials?" complained Sand, as we waited for the crowd to leave the courtroom. "Give everyone a bloody big sword and let them hack away at each other. Trial by combat, indeed. And here I thought some vestiges of civilization still existed in Neverwinter."

"It's _him_," Shandra said in shocked outrage. "He's the one that killed all those people. He's the man Marcus described. How _dare_ he come in here and call you a liar and all along it was _him_! Sweet Chauntea, how I hope those murdering Luskans get sent to the lowest hells."

"Blasphemous witch," Sand muttered. We both stared at him in some surprise.

"Torio," he said. "She thinks to send Ember's murderer against you in a trial by combat? Before Tyr himself? Does she believe no justice exists in the realms? Does she truly believe the gods will stand for such arrogance? How desperate she must be."

"Sand," I whispered and I pulled him aside. "Where are the Luskan ambassadors staying?"

"In the Blacklake district." His eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"Can you find out where exactly?"

"Why?" he asked again. "I will not be a party to assassination, my dear girl, tempting as the thought may be."

"No, no, nothing like that," I said. "I just need to send a message. Can you help me?" He continued to scrutinize me and finally turned up his palms in resignation.

"Of course," he sighed.

I had an assignation to meet Lorne and now I wondered if I were nine kinds of fool. I had to understand why he was standing against me. I didn't see how I could face him in battle tomorrow without an explanation. I would go mad. However, he would have to be wondering if this was some kind of trap. What if he decided to set a trap of his own? If I didn't show up at the arena tomorrow, I would be judged guilty. But if I didn't show up alone, Lorne probably wouldn't talk to me at all. I needed backup, invisible backup.

I found Bishop in his room. According to Duncan, he had lived there for quite some time, but the room was so neat and sterile, it seemed unoccupied. No mess or mementoes here to give any clue to his interests or personality. Barefoot, with his shirtsleeves rolled above his elbows, he was busy cleaning and oiling his leather. Karnwyr was curled in a corner, his tail over his nose. The wolf opened one eye as I stepped inside and shut the door behind me, then went back to his nap.

I had seen Daeghun at the same task many times. The smell of the oil made a wave of homesickness and loneliness approach. But there was no time for that nonsense.

"What do you want?" Bishop asked without looking up. His surly tone was bracing.

I took five amethysts and a particularly fine opal out of my pocket and dropped them on his dresser. He glanced up at the clink of the gems.

"I need your services for a few hours this evening."

One eyebrow rose and he looked from the gems to my body to my face. A slow, deliberately insulting appraisal. Pure Bishop.

"If this involves taking my clothes off, I'm not sure I'm that interested."

Despite my black mood, my lip twitched.

"I have to meet someone at dusk and I need you to watch my back."

"Why?"

"Because I plan to go unarmed and he's dangerous. I don't trust him." Bishop rolled his eyes.

"No, fool, why _me_? You have a paladin already watching your back, and your front, too, in case you hadn't noticed."

"I'd rather not involve Casavir in this." Bishop's eyed me speculatively.

"That so? Well, now. I wonder why not."

"Not your concern." His lip curled slightly.

"Aren't you supposed to be on your knees tonight with the priest?"

Only Bishop could make the Rite of Tyr sound sordid.

"I have to see this man first. Probably nothing is going to happen but I'd feel better if I knew there was someone out of sight watching me. I might be wrong."

"Where are you meeting him?"

"There's an empty warehouse past the park in the Merchant Quarter. Do you know it?"

"I can find it. An empty warehouse, at dusk. What in the hells kind of meeting is this, anyway? What are you up to, wench?"

"You know, Bishop, I didn't think you'd have so many damned _questions_," I said. "It's a job, can you do it or not?" His eyes narrowed.

"I ought to tell you to take your crap and get out."

"Go ahead," I said.

"And you'll go alone, is that it?" I shrugged. "Fine, then, I'm in. If you want to keep secrets from the paladin, suits me. But why go unarmed?"

"I need to talk to him. I don't want to look threatening." He snorted.

"You don't look in a mirror much, do you? A big strapping girl like you could dress all in scarves and feathers like a tavern dancer and you'd still look threatening," Bishop said flatly. "Wouldn't mind seeing you try, though."

"What do you suggest?"

"You'll definitely need to leave your big pig-sticking falchion at home. No need to go unarmed, though." He tossed me his sheathed knife. "Tuck that in your boot."

"Your favorite knife? I didn't know you cared." It hadn't occurred to me to hide a knife but it was a practical idea. I didn't like the way the sheath rubbed against my ankle but I supposed I'd get used to it.

"You'll be giving that back later or I'll be taking it off your corpse." He moved closer, looking me up and down again. "Is that what you're wearing tonight?"

"I hope you approve," I said dryly. Plain linen blouse tucked into trousers, leather boots.

"Not really. A skirt would be less 'threatening'. You might try letting your hair down though." His hands, strong, capable hands, explored the back of my head and pulled out the pins that held my braid in place. He stood so close that it was practically an embrace and my eyes fell before his challenging gaze. He pulled my braid apart and combed his fingers through my hair, fanning it out.

"Nice," he said as he leaned over my shoulder and buried his nose in my hair. I shoved him away. He grinned.

"That's an improvement, but if you want to look soft, why don't you open your shirt up a bit? Just about any man would be distracted with a peek at this." I took a step back but he moved with me and he loosened the ties that held my blouse closed.

"Hey!" I jabbed him hard with my elbow and he backed away.

"Just a suggestion," he said. He was laughing at me. "So who is this man you're seeing? You're not saying goodbye to some old lover, I hope. Are you worried that giant Luskan will slaughter you tomorrow?" He laughed at the flush I felt burning my cheeks. "I do believe that arrow hit the mark."

I closed my eyes a moment to avoid his mocking stare, but I felt his breath warm on my cheek, and his fingertips traced along the edge of my blouse, pushing it down a little.

"If I had known you liked dangerous men, we could have come to an arrangement."

I wondered if he was going to kiss me, and I wondered what I would do if he did. Then I realized that he was waiting and the next move was up to me. I sighed and slid away.

"Are you going to help me?"

"You won't see me, but I'll be there," he said. "If nothing better comes up, that is." 

I knew he'd be there. His curiosity would bring him, if nothing else. Besides, he would want to get his knife back.

It was perhaps inevitable that coming out of Bishop's room with my hair down my back, my blouse undone, and a flushed face, I should run straight into Casavir. Hells, hells, hells.


	7. Lorne's Tale

Part 7 Lorne's Tale

Lorne walked purposefully toward me where I stood in the street before the warehouse. I had helped slaughter Moire's men here not so long ago and I wondered how long it would be before the warehouse became again a haven for the homeless and the lawless. It was deserted now, although presumably Bishop lurked somewhere within. I had seen no sign of him or Karnwyr, nor had I expected to.

Lorne took the lamp from my hand and we stared at each other. Without a word, he pushed open the heavy door and I followed him inside. It was very quiet, dark and quiet. He set the lamp on a crate and turned to study me again. I searched for some sign of the man I'd once known, beneath the loss of his beautiful hair and the disfiguring tattoos, and the rage, the terrible rage that burned in his eyes like a fever.

"So, my little Thorn, have you come to beg me for your life?" I winced at the sound of his old nickname for me and at the coldness of his voice.

"Lorne," I began but he interrupted.

"I am required to kill your champion tomorrow, but _your_ life is safe enough."

"Until your Luskan masters hang me."

"Luskan cares nothing for you or that pathetic village. _You_ are only a problem while you stand in my lord's way and that is at an end now. The Brotherhood will leave your fate in Lord Garius' hands and he has promised you to me." His hot covetous eyes made my blood run chill.

"Lorne, you must leave this madness behind," I cried. "You must leave Lord Garius before he drags you to the hells with him."

"Leave Lord Garius? And do what? Surrender to Neverwinter?" He laughed. "You ask me to put my head in Lord Nasher's noose. Why would I do that, Thorn?"

"Then go to Waterdeep, go to Baldur's Gate, but go. If you stay with Garius, you will die." He looked down at me and I could not read his expression.

"Is this why you called me here?" he asked incredulously. "Are _you_ trying to save _me_?"

"I do not want you to die," I whispered. "Not like this. What has happened to you?" His laughter was dark and unsettling. It was the laugh of a stranger.

"Oh, my sweet Thorn, you are far too late to save me. You don't even know what you ask. I cannot leave my lord, even if wanted to. You don't know him."

"For Tyr's sake, Lorne, what has happened to you?"

"What happened to me?" He gave me a bitter look. "This road I am on, with death all around me and death and shadow before me—you started this, Thorn." He grabbed me by both arms and pulled me into him, his eyes burning into mine. "You look at me with horror now and I can feel the fear on you," and he shook me, "But it is you that brought me here. You and that 'father' of yours.

"Daeghun killed my father and I should have killed him for that. I wanted to, oh, by the gods did I want to kill him. But I didn't. Why? Because you loved him and I would have done _anything_ for you, anything, Rose. You loved him, the gods know why. We all knew he cared nothing for you. I spared him though it made me half mad to know that he lived and my own father lay buried in a shallow nameless grave."

Lorne's father was an evil man that deserved death if any man did.

"After my father died, I could not stay in West Harbor. You know that. Your father made sure of that. And then you turned your back on me, like all the others.

"So I went to Neverwinter and nothing went right after that, not one damned thing. Let me tell you about the Greycloaks, Rose, when they see one of us enlist, it's 'oh, good, a big dumb Harborman, why I have just the place for you, my lad, and that's the front line'. I'm sure war is one glorious battle after another when you're a general or one of the Nine safe on a hill, but when you're a big dumb Harborman on the front line, it is blood and guts and skulls split open, and dying soldiers screaming for their mamas.

"I am big and strong and I fought hard and I killed many, many Luskans, but did anyone care? No promotion for me, it was just 'back to the front, lad, let's win one for Lord Nasher'. When I finally fell in battle, as all of us on the front line did in time, the Greycloaks left me for dead. They left me on the field with the foul stinking bodies for the dogs and the crows to eat. But I wasn't dead. I am very hard to kill, my sweet Rose, and the Luskans found me." He gave a harsh laugh. "And then it got much, much worse."

"You were captured by the enemy? What did they do to you?" He gave me another shake.

"They're _Luskans_, Rose. What do you _think_ they did to me? Have you heard no tales of how Neverwinter soldiers were treated?"

They tortured him. Oh, gods, they tortured him.

"I survived. I am hard to kill. There are those in the Hosttower who value that in a man. Do you pity me, wife? I am sure there are…many ways…you can make it up to me in the time to come. West Harbor threw me away, Neverwinter threw me away, but Lord Garius will keep me around, so long as I am of use to him."

I shook free of his hold. He let me.

"You should have come with me when I begged you, Rose. We could have made a life together apart from all this. There is no escape now. You will serve my lord—or you will die."

"I will never be a slave to Lord Garius."

Lorne gave a harsh laugh.

"I believed that once myself. He will break you, Rose. He is very good at destroying the strong."

I shook my head.

"You've made your offer, now hear mine," he said. "Come with me tonight. There is no need to fight. There is no need for anyone to die for you tomorrow. Abandon the field, and Lord Garius will protect you from the Brotherhood. He will be easier on you if you come willingly."

"No." I turned to leave.

To my back, Lorne said, "Who do I face in the arena tomorrow? Who is going to die for your stubbornness?"

"You face me."

"Too bad. I was looking forward to killing that paladin." When this didn't get a rise, he said, "You know you have no chance against me." He took my shoulders, turned me to face him. "I can take you down without killing you. We've sparred together too many times. You know I'm right." He pulled me in close so that the whole length of our bodies was pressed together. He put his fingers around my neck. His thumbs caressed my throat.

"All I have to do is choke you until you pass out. You won't even have to yield to me." There was a mad stranger in his eyes, but my body knew him, remembered him. A slight shudder ran through me and I felt the prickle of tears. I couldn't love him anymore—there were too many shadows between us now—but I sorrowed for what we once had. Once I thought I would have a life with this man—a marriage, a family—and I had hoped that perhaps the symbol of Tyr emblazoned on my shoulder would fade away or become nothing but a curiosity for our children. Lorne didn't deserve his evil father, whose madness and foul, brutal acts had ruined Lorne's life. Nor did I deserve my celestial father, whoever he was, man or angel. I did not deserve the burden he laid on me to serve Tyr's justice, no matter what the cost in blood or in pain.

I don't know how many of my thoughts showed on my face but Lorne felt me soften in his arms.

"Rose," he said. There was something of the Lorne I had once known back in his eyes. He looked at me and for a moment, I saw regret.

"Let me kiss you," he said. "My sweet wife." I raised my face and his lips touched mine and the tears slid down my face and into my hair. We stood in each others arms a long time and then some sound, a creak, the building settling perhaps, brought me back to myself.

"Don't cry, Rose," Lorne said as I turned and left him. But I had to cry because I had to kill him in the morning and that was worthy of tears.


	8. Rite of Tyr

Part 8 Rite of Tyr

By the time I reached the park, I was aware of the shadow following me. Bishop, of course. I angrily swiped the tears off my face. I knew he had a smart mouth and some sort of a death wish, so I told him plain, "One snide comment from you now—even one—and I really will cut your tongue out." He held up his hands in surrender.

"I'm not saying anything until I get my knife back."

True to his word, he followed me in silence. We stepped into the common room of the Sunken Flagon. Conversation stopped and a chorus of 'Where have you been?' started up. I swept past without a word and trudged up to my room. I was sure Bishop could come up with a likely lie.

I longed to throw myself on the bed and weep like a young girl but there just wasn't _time_ for that. I was due at the Hall of Justice. One day, perhaps the gods would explain why they keep shoveling all this crap at me. Possibly things would become clearer tonight, at the Rite of Tyr. But first, I had to think about how I was going to kill the man who still considered himself my husband, because kill him, I must. There were no options left.

I eyed my two sets of armor with disfavor. I was resigned to spending the night in my armor, but what should I fight in? Casavir had talked me into buying a set of heavy armor and Tyr knows I needed the extra protection. However…

Like me, Lorne favored the falchion—I had learned it from him, after all—but he was big—very big. And he was strong—very strong. If he hit me, it was going to hurt. He could knock me down, disarm me even, with one lucky stroke. He was good in a fight and lucky, too. If I got knocked down in heavy armor, I wouldn't be getting up until time to catch the next boat to Luskan. I couldn't let him hit me, I just couldn't. And like he told me, he was hard to kill. This was likely to be a long hard battle and I wasn't sure I would survive a straight out fight with him. So I was thinking about wearing my leather. And I was thinking about bringing my bow. Now I'm not in the same class with Bishop or Daeghun but I'm not half bad with a bow. Tyr knows my target was big enough, it'd be like hitting a barn wall. Lorne would be wearing light armor, if anything. He knew I was quicker than he was and he wouldn't want to weigh himself down. He would want to hit me hard and fast. He would be vulnerable to my arrows, if I could stay out of his reach.

My hands caressed the hilt of my falchion. I drew the blade and whooshed it through the air. The thought of leaving it in my room and committing my life to my bow was…scary. I loved my sword and it made me feel big and safe and strong. When my falchion was in my hands, I didn't have to think…or feel…all I had to do was kill.

I put it away.

My mind made up, I dressed quickly, and roused out all those special arrows I'd been saving for the day when I was up against something too big for me. I felt a warm rush of cowardice—I knew I was going to be running and sniping tomorrow—so I decided to go with the theme and I slipped out the back door without saying goodbye to anyone.

I needn't have bothered ducking out, since most of the people I had hoped to avoid sought me out at the Hall of Justice.

It was okay, though. Khelgar was overwrought by the unfairness of it all and he was certainly right. Was it fair that my life was in the privy because Tyr needed a hammer and I happened to be handy? I stopped that thought. Surely no good could come from questioning my god, particularly when I was in his own temple.

I felt a guilty twinge when Casavir came to sit with me. I was certain he would berate me for my cowardly tactics, but he didn't, far from it.

"This is no joust, no tournament staged to demonstrate courage or chivalry, honor or valor. You do not fight for glory. This is a fight to the death, in Tyr's name. You are proving the truth of these accusations on the body of Luskan's champion. Mercy will be served by the gods as it is due. Mercy is not _your_ concern." He leaned towards me, his eyes compelling me to understand.

"Your task, your sacred charge, is to deliver _justice_ tomorrow. Your skills, your weapons, and your tactics—they are all gifts of Tyr, to be used in his name. You must not falter, you must not yield, and you must not stay your hand when the time comes. I know this sounds harsh, Rose, but this man Lorne has set his will against Tyr himself and you _must_ strike him down. It is your duty. I know you shall succeed."

I looked at Casavir with gratitude and a little wonder.

"You always seem to know exactly the right thing to say to help me."

I don't see Casavir smile all that often, but when he does, oh what smiling eyes that man has. He warms you right down to your toes. I felt my doubts and fears retreat far away, not gone, perhaps, but not choking me.

I wasn't sure how I ended up holding his hand, but it felt nice. Very nice. He had such warm and comforting hands. He held my hands and we stared into each others eyes under the shadow of Tyr's statue. We both blinked at the same time and the spell was broken.

"I have a gift," he said. "I was given this ritual flask long ago and I have no further need for it. It contains a powerful potion that can heal your wounds, should you need it. Use it tomorrow, with Tyr's blessing." He pressed the beautiful silver flask in my hands, leaned forward to kiss my forehead, and then he was gone.

The peace he brought me remained, however.


	9. Trial by Combat

Part 9 Trial by Combat

Dawn came but the sun didn't show itself. I knelt at the feet of Tyr's statue but I made my prayers to Lathander in the hopes that something good would come from this day. I admit that I also selfishly prayed that the clouds wouldn't bring rain. It would be easier to deliver Tyr's justice with a dry bowstring.

"It is time," Sir Nevalle said. My knight, Sir Grayson, clasped me warmly by the hand. He said a few inspiring words but to be honest, I was barely attending. All my thoughts were focusing down on the task ahead. If I were to be Tyr's hammer today, then I wanted to face it as a hammer—a tool—and not as a thinking, feeling person.

Then the flames went up behind me and I faced Lorne in the arena. His lips twisted when he saw the bow I carried in an easy grip. I had surprised him and I could see him considering the possibilities. He knew how I fought with a falchion but my skill with a bow was largely unknown to him. He would need to close with me quickly and not let me pepper him with arrows.

"Your father would be proud," he sneered. I gave him calm eyes. Was this what it felt like to be Daeghun? This calm emptiness, with sorrow underneath?

"Do you think you can kill me as easily as your father killed mine? Well? Do you?" It looked like he was trying to work up his anger. Rage was his shield, like calmness was my father's. But rage was a poor shield, I thought, and it would not serve him today.

"How proud will your mother be?" I asked and his eyes blazed.

"I'm going to hack you apart," he growled and he rushed me. My first arrow missed completely but my second caught him high in the thigh. I had to dive under his flashing falchion—he had a terrible great reach and I misjudged it. I rolled and I ran, then I shot him again, a little higher in the same thigh. I wasn't lucky enough to pierce the big artery there, which would have killed him in minutes, but I slowed him down. It was enough to ensure my victory.

The rest of the duel played out like a sickening, bloody dream. I ran and then I sank an arrow deep into Lorne's flesh. I shot him again and again and the blood stained his armor and dripped onto the dirt. In the end, he stood there and let me hit him. Thunk. Thunk. He fell to his knees. He labored for the breath to speak.

"Finish it," he said.

"Lorne." I dropped my bow to the ground.

"Better to die by your hand than _his_," he said and I knew he meant his Luskan master.

"Yes," I said. I pulled Bishop's knife from my boot and he let me cut his throat.

I'm not sure how I made it back to the Flagon. People kept talking to me but I doubt I answered coherently. Someone, probably Casavir, had retrieved my bow from the arena because later I found it in my room.

Duncan gave me a big hug. It felt good to be held and I let myself relax in his arms.

"Sal," I said.

"Yo."

"Do you have any Harvest Mead?" He grimaced.

"Maybe. We do get Harbormen in here asking for it from time to time." He rummaged around behind the bar and finally pulled out a bottle, muttering something about foul brews and crazy Harbormen. He pulled down a clean mug but I shook my head.

"Just give me the bottle." He and Duncan made faces at each other, then Sal handed it over. I closed my eyes and took a long pull from the bottle. It was sweet and thick and burned a hot line from my throat to my belly. I opened my eyes. Everyone was looking at me.

"You should try this, Khelgar."

"No thanks, lass. It's a little early in the day to be poisoning my body." That's right, it was still morning.

"Since when?" Neeshka muttered. Khelgar laughed.

"Anyway, lass, it's good to see you safe and sound. Didn't think you'd be able to best that big brute but you made it look easy. Not a mark on you."

The door opened and a couple of Greycloaks dropped a box by the doorway.

"From Lord Nasher," one said. "Sign here."

"What is it?" Neeshka asked.

"I don't know," I said. "Probably something awful."

I sighed and opened the lid. First thing I saw was Lorne's falchion.

"Nine stinking hells," I said. "It's Lorne's gear." I couldn't bear to touch the sword. I started to drop the lid on the whole mess but then I saw the blood-stained envelope. My heart sank even lower. When I picked it up, the blood was still wet. Sweet Morninglord, he must have been carrying it in his clothes. I felt all the blood drain from my face.

"Well, I'm _glad_ you killed that Luskan dog," Shandra said fiercely. "He deserved everything you did to him and more."

"He wasn't Luskan," I said softly. I opened the envelope. "He was a Harborman, just like me."

Lorne's words were brief. 'I love you Rose. I've always loved you. I'm sorry. Tell Mom I'm sorry.' Despite what he said last night, he must have known or feared that I would kill him.

"He was her husband," Bishop said mockingly. The room went very, very quiet. I put the letter in my pocket. I walked slowly over to Bishop and stared him straight in the eye.

"The world would be a better place if I killed you right now," I said.

"You're right about that."

I bent down and pulled his knife out of my boot. He saw it in my hand. His smile turned even more sardonic. I slammed the knife down on the table before him.

"You put it to good use today," he said. I turned and picked up my bottle of mead. "Smart move, by the way, crippling him right off."

"I know."

I drank my mead alone in my room and at last I slept, or at least achieved unconsciousness. Waking was dreadful. One thing about a hangover, it's a really big distraction from your other problems.

Casavir came into my room as I was packing my gear.

"Rose?" he said with a searching glance. "Are you well?"

"Sure, except for the self-inflicted brain damage." I got a small worried smile for this.

"Where are you going?"

"West Harbor. I need to tell Lorne's mom…what happened. He disappeared during the war and all this time she wondered…we all wondered…where he went."

"So you did know him. What Bishop said was true."

"I practically grew up with his family and his mom was like the mother I never knew." I let out a shuddering sigh, too close to embarrassing tears. "I really don't want to talk about this now."

"Could I come with you?" he asked softly. I blinked. It was a practical suggestion. In fact, going alone was rather stupid.

"I'd like that."

"It won't take me long to get ready." It never did. One thing I appreciated about traveling with Casavir was that he was always ready to hit the road when I was, unlike certain other members of our merry band who had to be kicked out of their bedroll.

He went off to his room, and then I thought—me and Casavir traveling alone—might get a bit awkward. So I asked Elanee along.

"I'm sorry," she said. "If you truly need me, I will come, but I am uncomfortable at the thought of traveling the Mere just now. Kaleil warned against it."

"Oh, right, never mind then." Khelgar gave me an earthier refusal and I didn't bother asking Neeshka or the spellcasters. I felt Bishop eyeing me across the room and ignored him.

I went back up to my room, slipped into my leather and slid my pack over my shoulder. Bishop came in without an invitation.

"You look pretty rough this morning, 'squire'."

"Thanks, that means a lot to me, coming from you." I tried to shoulder past him but he blocked the doorway.

"So where are we going?"

"_I'm_ going to West Harbor. _You're_ probably headed for one of the lower hells. Thanks a lot, by the way, for telling the whole bar my private business."

"It needed to be said."

"Not by you. Get out of my way."

"You're not going alone."

"No. Take yourself off, ranger, I don't need any more of your help."

"You're taking…who?" A pause. "Not _Casavir_." I gave him a bland look. Bishop sneered. "How's he going to keep all that shiny armor polished in the swamp?"

"As you like to say, 'not your problem'."

It felt good to leave Neverwinter behind for a time. I smiled across at Casavir and he smiled back. He also looked happy to leave the city. Returning to West Harbor would be painful, but the pain must be faced. The silver shards in my pack still held a mystery that was tied to the shadow that was growing across the land. Tyr had work for me yet, I could feel it, but I had companions to help me.

Sometimes that is all you need.


End file.
